Who decides what is normal?
by Varant
Summary: Uber- Katrina Rhys can't remember if she's ever been someone who fit in. But when she meets Alice Taylor,she might just not want to.


**Who decides what is normal?**

She stands in the shower with her head hung low and eyes closed. Not because she's sad or angry. Just because. Slowly opening her eyes she looks down at herself, pale blue eyes resting on the angry cuts that adorn her left calf.

Just minutes ago, she was sitting in her room, on her couch, listening to "Hurt". The soothing voice of Johnny Cash drifting through the room. Her eyes were focused on the small silver razorblade she had held in her right hand, slowly bringing it down to her left leg. Her pale skin almost glowing in the darkness of her room. She had smiled slightly at the clean shaven calf and congratulated herself for the good work. After all it has always been part of the ritual; she couldn't change that now, just because she hadn't done it in a while.

She had watched in fascination as the ruby pearls left her body and slid down her leg. It had reminded her of her first time doing it, just without the feeling of disgust. Cut after cut had appeared on her skin, until it had been sixteen in total.

After she had been done with her work , she looked on as the blood trickled down to the floor. Not yet realizing what she had done to her body and soul, again. The closing of the front door had brought her out of her trance. Frantically she had put away the blade and covered up her work with the pant leg of her jeans.

Slowly leaving her room she had looked u at her older sister who had been slowly walking down the stairs. She had smiled at her sister, ignoring the pain that her earlier actions had brought on. Telling her she would take a shower, she had made her way down the hall into her own bathroom.

And here she is now. Her eyes still focused on the raw wounds, she slowly bends down and rubbed the remaining blood away. She doesn't really know why she has done it yet. She just wanted the pain to go away. And it did. It left her body along with the blood, the life, she has lost.

Straightening up again, she turns the water as hot as her skin can take without actually getting burned. She had to be clean, inside and out. It hurt but it had to be done. After letting the hot water rain down on her body for a while, she turned it off and stepped out of the shower. Taking a towel she started to dry herself off, carefully avoiding the still fresh cuts.

The spell was broken. They didn't fascinate her anymore. They didn't have a soothing effect on her anymore. She wasn't upset about doing it again. Not yet anyway. She knew it would come. Sometime later, when reality hit her again. But right now she didn't feel anything while looking at them. She didn't feel anything at all. She was empty. Finally the pain was gone.

After hanging the now slightly damp towel up to dry, she turned around and looked at her naked reflection in the mirror that was hanging above the basin. Lifting her hand she ran it through her long black hair, that hung now in a slight disarray down her shoulders from being towel dried.

She let her eyes travel over her face. She wasn't extraordinary in any way. She had high cheekbones, courtesy of her father, pale thin lips and blue eyes, which she got from her mother. Pale skin was stretching all over her body. Which was strange because both her parents had darker skin, so had her sister. But since she was constantly cooped up in her basement room and wasn't necessarily a big fan of the sun because it meant warm weather and running around in shirts, she shouldn't be to surprised that her skin was so light in contrast to the rest of her family.

Letting her eyes wander further down over two well rounded average sized breast that also sported the pale skin, her eyes landed on her hips. Her hipbones were dangerously prominent. Slowly gliding her hands over them they almost felt like the edge of the blade, she just sunk in her flesh half an hour ago. Her hands rested on her flat stomach, ignoring the pain that shot trough it from being denied food for so long.

She wasn't really hungry most of the time. But now and then her stomach reminded her that it needed something inside. Deciding she would get something small from the fridge after she finished dressing she looked up again. Reminding herself that she really wasn't anything extraordinary, she stared at the evidence, the marks on her body that made her disgusting. Littered all over her arms, breasts, stomach and hips were scars. They were old and faded but they were there. If she could look beneath her hips, she would find more on her legs, mixing with the fresh ones. But the mirror wasn't big enough.

She remembers now, that she never had a real reason to do it, to hurt herself. She wasn't raped or beaten. Her parents divorced yes. But other than that she can't bring herself to think of any real reason that she had the right to do this to herself. But she did it anyway. It just stopped the pain. And it made her feel nothing.

She rips her gaze away from the mirror and moves over to the washing machine. Grabbing her clothes, she pulls up her boxers and her baggy jeans, wincing slightly as the rough material makes contact with her wounds. Taking her bra she puts it on and pulls a white tank top over her head followed by a fading grey hoodie that was way to large for her small frame. She is by no means short. Reaching 6 feet she is actually quite tall for a woman. She was just thin.

With one last look in the mirror she took a washcloth and made her way to her room, cleaning up the bloody mess she created. Sighing she bent down in front of her couch, not even seeing the blood. For her it was just like soup that now stained the floor because it spilled over the edge of the plate.

After she finished she took the washcloth and her blood stained clothes and put it in the washing machine. Clearing the scene of the crime from the rest of its evidence. Catching her eyes once again in the mirror it hit her all over again. She was still after all these years far away from normal.

Katrina Rhys knew that she would probably never be normal again.


End file.
